Love in the Time of Cholera is not a sentimental story about love. In fact, it is an assemblage of immoralities masquerading as love. Placed in an unnamed town (that we can infer is in Columbia) during the late 19th century to early 20th century, this novel follows the lives of Fermina Daza and her first love Florentino Ariza from their abrupt separation in young adulthood to reunion in decaying old age. While the traditional reading places Florentino and Fermina’s romantic relationship on the main stage, leaving Fermina’s husband Juvenal Urbino as a mere foil character designed for purposes of contrast, I deem all three equally significant in my interpretation.

“She had never imagined that curiosity was one of the many masks of love.”

The opening part of the book describes in heart-throbbing detail the budding of Fermina and Florentino’s young love. Sparked by a coincidental love at first sight, nurtured by secret letters sent back and forth, and dramatically hindered by Fermina’s disapproving father—their relationship resembles the definition of forbidden love. The most prominent motif stemming from this stage of the story is the “flower of promising”, the camellia, which represents the captivating smell of Fermina and Florentino’s obsession with his goddess. Later on, it morphs from smell to a more tangible emblem of their young love when Florentino eats camellias in order to preserve his fond memories of Fermina. While the beautifully depicted image of two youngsters falling in love is indisputably one of the most memorable aspects of this book, García Márquez warns the reader "to be careful not to fall into my trap." Shedding light on this budding of love, this reminder seems closely linked to Fermina’s sudden realization that their love was a mere illusion. It seems Florentino’s love was in fact unrequited, since Fermina’s interest in him was out of innocent curiosity in the beginning, instead of genuine attraction. This also lays down the idea that purely spiritual love is delicate, foreshadowing the heavy strokes describing physical passion, and possibly piquing curiosity in the relationship between spiritual and physical affection.

“Too much love is as bad for this as no love at all.”
--Florentino Ariza

Should there be a spectrum of passion and romanticism, I would place Florentino and Urbino on the two far ends, and Fermina wavering in the middle. While Florentino clearly understands the harm of extremity, he is one to verge on the edge by indulging in passionate love-letter-writing in his youth, and wallowing in venereal ecstasy during the half century Fermina is wedded to Juvenal Urbino. The excessiveness of his passion, both spiritual and physical, is sharply and intentionally contrasted with Urbino’s dramatic lack thereof. From Urbino’s near clinical explanation of love-making to his disregard for the inexistence of love with Fermina while courting her, it is clear that there is as little fervor in his nature as there is indifference in Florentino’s. The dismaying consequences of both men’s way of loving and not loving are the main threads of the story from this point onward.

“He was aware that he did not love her. He had married her because he liked her haughtiness, her seriousness, her strength, and also because of some vanity on his part, but as she kissed him for the first time he was sure there would be no obstacle to their inventing true love.”

Out of pressure from her father and no reason not to, Fermina marries Urbino, a well-accomplished young national hero seeking to eradicate cholera and found the construction of public facilities. While they are, just like Fermina and Florentino once where, complete strangers, García Márquez creates the captivating illusion that love can be invented from scratch. Though I dislike the idea of arrange marriage (or any marriage that precedes actual love, in general), the act of creating love for the sake of it seems logical and perfectly feasible. In fact, this is the one notion that shines most for me in the book, ultimately giving me the impression that Urbino, as fixated on reputation and social status as he is, is an overall likable character.

“Always remember that the most important thing in a good marriage is not happiness, but stability.”
--Juvenal Urbino

The sharp polarity between Urbino and Florentino escalates once more when they reach middle age. Although Fermina and Urbino have fostered love and live like any married couple would (happiness as well as arguments), the overarching theme of their relationship, at least from Urbino’s perspective, is stability. His traditional views are challenged by Fermina, who is beginning to feel “unhappy”. At this point it is clear that Fermina, though married to a conventional man like Urbino, yearns for spiritual satisfaction at heart.

“With her Florentino Ariza learned what he had already experienced many times without realizing it: that one can be in love with several people at the same time, feel the same sorrow with each, and not betray any of them. Alone in the midst of the crowd on the pier, he said to himself in a flash of anger: 'My heart has more rooms than a w****house.’”

As all three age, Florentino is the one to incessantly indulge in carnal play. His understanding of love is, to me, already warped and disfigured, because he returns to Fermina claiming he’s saved himself for her. If he were to truly love her, why would he lie? Why would he have even indulged in the first place? These are among the many questions that culminated into the idea that Florentino’s obsession with Fermina was truly, even on his side, an illusion. He begins to resemble Humbert Humbert in Nabokov’s Lolita, brimming with personal charm that deceives even the reader, but in retrospect has done little true good for the one he “loves.” This deceptive façade falls apart as he approaches Fermino, who is now Widow Urbino, and upon close speculation is still the overly passionate young man he was over half a century ago.

“‘And how long do you think we can keep up this goddamn coming and going?’ he asked.
Florentino Ariza had kept his answer ready for fifty-three years, seven months, and eleven days and nights.
‘Forever,’ he said.”

By the end there is no definite fate for Florentino and Fermina, but García Márquez intends to create the false impression that they live happily ever after. Once again, this is a trap. It is clear that pleasant plot and consistently devastating (almost tragic) tone form one puzzling cacophony of sounds and emotions. This is when I finally realize that whether Florentino truly loved Fermina, whether Fermina would’ve lived a happier life had she chosen a different spouse, whether Urbino did in fact invent love as strong as Florentino’s love at first sight—these are questions no one will ever be able to answer. Love is such a selfish and irrational feeling that every attempt to decipher it has been and will be in vain. This is why I was so hesitant to pick up my pen and draw conclusions—there are none to be drawn.